Bellarke Music Drabbles
by Starr Rose
Summary: This is a collection of one shots based on my first thoughts while listening to music. The one shots are not connected though elements from one may appear in another. I might do more because it's really good writing practice so I'd love to hear your critique!
1. Chapter 1

**Don't Trust Me- 3Oh3! **

Ark parties were the worst. Especially the ones that other teenagers held. They would press up against each other in some dark, crowded storage closet over on Walden and grope at each other with the Walden teenagers until late. Then, they would stay out until curfew or sneak back to some Walden apartment to hide out until it was officially time for curfew to end. Illegal alcohol exchanged hands almost as much as kisses exchanged lips and Clarke almost wished that she'd never followed Claire into the party.

Claire was the typical bored Phoenix girl who would drawl things like, "The Walden boys are just so much more interesting, you know. They've like, experienced things. They, like, know things."

Clarke knew that the Walden boys knew how to pin you up against a wall and have you screaming their name until somebody came and caught you and threw you into the delinquent pin. But she'd followed Claire anyway, knowing that she needed something away from the knowledge that the Ark was dying. Her parents were too busy considering the information to even realize that she wasn't in her room. That she wasn't in their apartment. That she'd snuck out the door as soon as dinner ended, hiding into a Phoenix supply closet so that she could slide out of her scrubs and into the little black dress she'd traded thirty credits for in the market. Claire was in a little blue number and Clarke lost her in the crowd as soon as they got there. Clarke knew she wouldn't see Claire again and she wondered how much trouble she'd get in if she tried to sneak out before the curfew was lifted and she was caught. The truth was, she'd probably get a slap on the wrist and handed back to her parents with a warning.

"Well look at the princess." The voice purred it into her ear and she whirled around to see a boy that came straight out of every cheesy romance novel that the Ark had saved for some unknown reason. Those faded yellowed books existed right next to the Shakespeare in the library. He was tall and dark and freckles painted his nose. His dark hair was slicked back but she could tell that it would probably have curls if it was let loose.

"I'm not a princess," she said flatly, a little louder than she normally would have to be heard of the music.

He just smirked down at her. "Princess down out of her tower. Are you going to make the escape worthwhile, or are you going to risk your reputation just to stand in the corner and watch everybody else dance?"

"Look, I…"

"We're all here for some kind of reason. Might as well dance," he cut her off and she realized that he was right. They all needed some kind of escape. They floated thousands of miles above their home. Above the place humans were meant to be in an artificially sustained system that was dying and would be dead before their children were ever born.

"You're…"

"Talk with your hips," he ordered with a laugh. His long fingers grasped at her hips and he pulled her closer, pulling her hips to his. And, for just that second, Clarke let go. Clarke began to move to the music, music she'd never danced to in her life. She let Tall Dark and Handsome lead her in a swaying movement, back and forth, giving and taking. His dark eyes never left her face and she felt like she'd melt under his gaze. It was too intense for any girl to survive.

He leaned close as the music dipped and pressed his cheek to hers so he could whisper in her ear, "Do you trust me, princess?"

"No," she said definitively. "And you shouldn't trust me either."

"Good. That's how I like them."

Then, his lips claimed hers and, the dancing was lost in the rhythm of their lips against each other. It was her first kiss, and it was damn good. It was pressing and urgent and the most important thing in the world. He bit her a couple times, drawing her lower lip into his mouth and tugging at it until she opened her eyes and found his own staring down at her. He wanted her to see what lust looked like. His eyes were so dark that it wouldn't have mattered if his pupils were dilated. She wouldn't have been able to tell anyway.

Slowly, she found herself backed up against the wall, pushed through the crowd without ever breaking contact. He was good. Too good. In the back of her mind, she thought loud and clear, do not let him get under this dress. But he never tried. They were in the dark for hours, hips rocking against one another, lips locked, bodies dripping with the sweat that left puddles on the floor. Then, when she didn't think she could stand another second of his lips on her without breaking apart, he pulled away and whispered, "I don't trust you; you don't trust me, and I'm not making the trip to Pheonix right now. Another time, princess."

He pressed one last chaste kiss to her lips, and he was gone in the crowd, leaving her feeling way too empty and way too bothered. After that, she didn't bother to stay for Claire or to worry about getting caught. She slipped out of the storage room and into the too cold air of Walden. She made her way back to the supply closet where she hid her scrubs and, when she was stopped by a guard on the way back to her apartment, she told him that she'd been at the hospital checking on a patient, and he walked her to her door to make sure that she was safe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Roar- Katy Perry**

The girl on the Ark who had let her father be floated was gone. The girl on the Ark who needed to tell her friends all of her secrets was gone. She didn't have to prove anything to anyone. She had to make sure these kids survived. Because that's what they were. Bellamy was the oldest, but so young in so many ways. The rebel leader needed a mature mind to calm his rage. She was the oldest, the closes to 18 when they landed. Then was Miller. Charlotte had been the youngest and the rest of them fell somewhere in the middle.

Clarke stood over the dead grounder with a frown on her face. Even after all the time on Earth, killing gave her no satisfaction. No matter how she did it. From a distance, or up close and personal, like the Grounder who had his throat slit when she needed to escape from Anya. This one was a quick killing. He hadn't choked on his own blood. He hadn't been hit in the head and left to die. She'd shot him through the back of the head. Dead on impact. Bellamy had taught her well.

"Well holy shit, princess. I didn't think you'd been taking those lessons seriously." Speak of the Devil and he'll speak back to you. Bellamy appeared at her elbow, a little out of breath from running towards the shot.

"He had an arrow at Jasper's back." Clarke nodded towards where Jasper was standing in shock fifteen feet away, still with the mushroom in his hand. "I wouldn't have done it otherwise."

"You did good," Bellamy gave her a rare compliment. "I think the princess is growing fangs and claws. What do you think, Jasper? Is she learning how to roar?"

"I've always known how to roar, Bellamy. The earth brought it out in me." She looped the gun over her shoulder and started back towards where Jasper was gathering mushrooms.

"Roaring looks good on you." He was too cheerful for her having just taken a life. "Don't let Spacewalker know you can do that though. You know he'll have a fit."

"Go float yourself, Bellamy," she growled, bending over to pick up mushrooms again. She was lucky that she'd been on her way when she had. She'd just barely made it behind the Grounder on her way out to help Jasper, who'd gone ahead of her while she was stitching up some kid in the drop ship. If it had taken just a little longer to finish the stitches. If she'd argued with Bellamy just a second longer. She couldn't think about it. She couldn't think about the dead Grounder.

"Careful there, princess. You're a good shot. I'm a better one," he warned as he settled against a tree a ways off.

"And you're here still because…?"

He was sitting on the ground with his gun in his lap and an apple halfway to his lips. He smirked at her and replied, "Because you can't always roar loud enough for me to hear you. And we're not losing the only damn person in the camp who can get my stitches straight."

"You're the biggest asshole I've ever met in my life."

"Bet on it. I'd pay attention to Goggles Boy. He's picking the purple mushrooms again."

"Jasper, no!"

**Up the Wolves- The Mountain Goats**

The nightmares woke him up every night and he was always reminded of the same old earth saying. "Skeletons in the closet." But his skeletons weren't in his closet. They were right in front of him every single day. Every day Octavia walked across the camp, bitter that she'd been trapped for sixteen years. Every day, he visited Charlotte's grave. Every day, he went into the drop ship to make sure Clarke was alright while she stitched up some poor kid or cleaned the blood off of her hands.

The others called him the Rebel King, just like they called Clarke The Princess. They'd started it all and they were still leading it all. Making truces with Grounders, ducking away from the survivors of the Ark ship, founding Rome right there in the middle of what used to be Washington. Right in the middle where their ancestors put their fingers on that big red button and sentenced the human race to a fate among the stars. On nights like that, when he woke up in a cold sweat after dreaming about stomachs blooming as red as big buttons and skeletons swinging from trees, that was when he sought her out.

It was like Clarke never slept. Or like she knew when he needed her most. He found her on the wall, resting with her knees drawn to her chest and her chin resting on them, and he settled down beside her. Without looking at him, she asked, "Dreams again?"

"Nightmares. You?"

"Thinking about her."

Her mother. It was Clarke's skeleton. They each had their own, and he knew she had more than one. But they only ever talked about their shared skeletons. Mothers and the camp and Charlotte. He asked, "How is she?"

"Still leading the council in the Ark Camp." Clarke was facing towards the Ark Camp then. They couldn't see it at night, but sometimes, if they were out in the woods and they climbed up in the trees, they could. It was a day's walk at best, and they kept contact for supplies and help, but Clarke didn't visit the Ark Camp, and Abby didn't visit the 100 camp.

"Who talked to her last?"

"Raven. She wants me to visit. She wants to know how I'm doing."

"You should talk to her. Your mother's absent, Clarke. My mother's dead. And for all her faults, I'd talk to her if she was alive."

"Your mother didn't kill your father," Clarke answered solemnly.

"No. But she gave me a gift, and my name was the last name she screamed when they floated her."

"Dad didn't scream. He smiled when he was floated. He told me he loved me, and that it would be alright. And then they opened those doors and floated him. Because he was trying to save people and my mother called it treason."

"And that's why we'll never have a council in this camp," Bellamy said solemnly. "Too many people linking up and deciding that other people should die."

"It's a good thing we always argue too much to ever get anything done then," Clarke chuckled darkly. "We're too busy arguing about how to best gather mushrooms that we don't have enough time to kill people."

"We'll flip a coin next time."

Clarke laughed into the night and let go of her legs, stretching them out so she could lean back and towards Bellamy. She looked up at him with her stormy blue eyes and informed him, "You know you're still an asshole, right?"

"Yep." His earth brown eyes had the same smile as hers.

"But you're not the same asshole that came off the Ark."

"And you're not the same princess."

"We'll feel better about it one day," she assured him.

"And she'll visit one day."

"That'll be the day the wolves come home."

"Cows," Bellamy corrected. "The saying is when the cows come home."

"Cows and wolves, wolves and cows. It doesn't matter, Bellamy. She's too far now for me to even think of. Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?" Clarke changed the subject suddenly.

"No, princess. I've had control of the airways for too long. Makes me uncomfortable."

"God forbid you should have feelings, you Rebel King, you," Clarke said sarcastically.

"You keep the feelings for me. I'll keep the wolves at bay for you."

"Deal."

They stayed like that until the sun rose, staring out over the trees with their home- their Rome- at their backs.


	3. Chapter 3

**My Eyes- Blake Shelton**

He couldn't stop watching her. Everybody in camp saw it. If Clarke was stoking the fire, Bellamy's eyes were on the fire. If Clarke had to leave camp, Bellamy was on the team that went with her. Since the altercation with the Grounders at the Bridge, and the failed peace treaty, Bellamy didn't trust anyone else with Clarke. He didn't trust anyone to make sure she was safe. The 100 learned quickly that the only time Bellamy didn't have to have his eyes on Clarke was when she was in the drop ship, tending to people. That's when they had to ask Bellamy to leave the walls for supplies, to check on a place in the wall, to discuss the proper way to skin a deer. Because if they asked him when Clarke was out of the ship, he'd glare at them until they went away. She was far too important to take his eyes off of.

Which was why Jasper knew to ask Bellamy to inspect the land mines when Clarke was working on a patient in the drop ship. Because she wasn't supposed to be out of the drop ship. She was supposed to be organizing and packing and cutting and stitching all day. She was supposed to be making sure that everybody was okay. She wasn't supposed to be up on their half built wall, helping Miller lift a log to put it into place. She wasn't supposed to fall off the wall. But Bellamy knew instantly that something was wrong when he heard Clarke's scream, followed by silence.

"Follow me, now," he growled at Jasper before he took off towards the camp. Jasper followed the best he could. The leader in front of him ducked beneath branches that Jasper never would have seen with the way they were running. He was lucky he knew the way back because he lost sight of Bellamy when Bellamy ducked around a tree and seemed to disappear.

Bellamy hit the camp only minutes after Clarke had fallen and found the group still surrounding her while Miller helped her sit up. The crowd parted around him, in fear of their Rebel King not having his eyes on the Princess. Miller's face was painted with fear when he looked up and found Bellamy striding forward. He said quickly, "She slipped and fell off the wall."

Bellamy stared up at the ten foot drop and then let his eyes trace back down to Miller, clearly showing his anger. His voice shook when he demanded, "And what was she doing up on the wall?"

"She was helping us. She offered," Miller answered quickly. "Clyde had to get stitches, so Clarke came out to help when she got done."

"Nobody else could have helped?" It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

"Bellamy…I'm…fine." Clarke struggled for words to express to Bellamy how stupid he was being.

It didn't give a revelation into his IQ, but it did draw his attention away from Miller. He strode forward and dropped onto the ground beside her, anger still radiating from him. He gave her the once over and watched her struggle for breath, watch her hands shaking. Before anybody could ask any stupid questions, he scooped her into his arms bridal style and barked at the surrounding crowd, "Get back to work before I skin you all!"

They scattered. Every single one of them took off to be busy, or at least pretend they were busy. He carried Clarke into the drop ship and shut the curtain behind him, depositing her on the table as carefully as he could and then grabbing for the hem of her shirt.

"What…are…you…doing?" she gasped, still struggling to get air into her sore body.

"Looking for broken bones. Stop fidgeting."

"Nothing….broken…"

"You're gasping for air and you fell pretty far. It could be your ribs. You're at least bruised. Come on, I've seen you do this enough times." The meaning, the "I've watched you do this enough times" fell in the air between them. When she glared at him, he continued, "I'm not leaving you alone until you let me look. So I can either help you take your clothes off or I'll just take them off myself without your help."

She glared at him but moved her hands so he could tug her shirt up and over her head. Bellamy's long fingers traced her ribs carefully, pushing and listening to her gasp and growl. He did what she always did, pressing his head to her chest and ignoring the fact that his face was pressed against her bra, listening for the raspy intake of air that she always listened for. He didn't know exactly what that rasp meant, he just knew that it was bad. When he didn't hear that, only felt her stuttering heartbeat, he realized how close he was and backed away quickly, the blush creeping up his neck. He announced, "I don't think anything's broken."

"Duh. Breath…knocked…out…of…me," she sneered, doing her best to sound intimidating when she couldn't gather enough air to speak.

"You're staying in here for the rest of the day. I take my damn eyes off you for one second and I come back and I practically have to give you CPR. I don't know CPR, Clarke!"

She raised one eyebrow at him and snatched her shirt off the table. Her voice was still filled with gravel when she replied, "You…learn…tomorrow. Understand?"

"Fine. Stay in here!"

"Fine!" She couldn't get the same shout in her voice as him.

Bellamy glared at her one last time, making sure that she was going to listen to him before he marched outside to yell at more people. Clarke mouthed in imitation, unable to actually imitate him, _I'm not taking my eyes off you because I'm a big baby. _

She rubbed distractedly at her chest, trying to get rid of the feeling of Bellamy's soft curls against her bare skin.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm a Believer- Smash Mouth**

He'd heard all the stupid fairy tales. Who hadn't on the Ark? It was like some stupid promise. When you least expected it, you'd walk around a corner and your true love would be right there. They'd trip into you and you'd catch them. They'd reach for the same food at the same time as you. They'd make you jealous when you didn't know why. You'd go crazy trying to protect them. They'd turn out to be your best friend. They'd make you madder than you'd ever been in your life. You'd want to tell them every secret you'd never told anybody. They'd make you feel safe and loved and you'd feel good about yourself for the first time in your life.

Fairy tales and romance were for the rich and the people who didn't have their little sister hidden under the floor in their apartment. Romance was for the people who had the time to thrive, not just survive. Romance and fairy tales were not for Bellamy Blake and he was convinced that he didn't have a true love. It was a myth made to make people on the Ark feel better about not having enough food. But then, that damn blonde started hanging around Spacewalker and it felt like his chest was constricting.

He didn't realize that anything was wrong at first. He hadn't liked Finn from the beginning. He was reckless and unapologetic. He thought his crime was above the crime of everybody else. His sister had only been born. She hadn't had a choice in her crime. Yet Finn thought that wasting oxygen that could have kept somebody alive for a week was better than being born. The Spacewalker made his blood boil, and Clarke didn't see that. Of course she didn't. The Princess didn't value human life unless she controlled it. She was allowed to keep people alive but she couldn't see that people were killing each other. She painted the world in gold, just like her hair.

Until Bellamy watched her run that knife across Atom's throat while she hummed her death song. She took Bellamy's burden from him, not because she had to, but because she was an angel of mercy while Bellamy was only a demon from hell pretending to be a ruler. After that, he hated it when Finn grinned at her. Raven had made a death trip for him and he couldn't respect that Clarke wanted nothing to do with him. Bellamy wanted to break his jaw, but he didn't, because that would have pissed Clarke off, which he only wanted to do when he was right, and when he could fix it. He knew that he wasn't right to break the Spacewalker's jaw.

And it wasn't just that she didn't see that Finn was all wrong. It was that she was everywhere. Just like in those damn stories where the boy and girl couldn't walk around a corner without running into one another, Clarke was everywhere in the camp. The first time, he was on his way out of his tent, looking over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, and she was on her way into his tent to make sure that they were still going harvesting that day. Her head was turned so she could shout a warning to Jasper, and they collided, her head whipping around just in time to smack dead into his sternum. He'd never realized how short she was until she was pressed against him with her face in the middle of his t-shirt and his arms on her shoulders to steady her.

"Sorry, Bellamy, I was just…" she started but he cut her off with, "Watch where you're walking, Princess. The whole world doesn't belong to you."

It ended with her shouting, "Go float yourself, Bellamy Blake" before she stormed across the tent, scaring everybody out of her path. But it got worse from there. He'd turn the corner into the drop ship, just to knock an armful of plants out of her grasp. She turn around the wall just to collide with him as he was trying to haul a deer in. They'd stumble out into the dark when there was a shout, and collide with each other. It got to the point where Clarke just reached out to grab his arm and stood there for a second until she was sure they each knew where the other was going. He never got used to it. He always reached for her to steady himself.

Then, they were always grabbing for the same thing. When they were going over the map with Raven, Jasper, Monty, and Finn, they'd reach for the same pile of rocks and their fingers would brush against each other, leaving a tingling spreading up his arm. They'd reach for the same stick to stoke the fire and his hand would wrap around hers before he realized what she was doing. They reached for the same kid at the same time, scaring the hell out of the person in their attempts to call the person's attention. It was driving him crazy, all the accidental touching. His skin was constantly on fire, waiting for the next time she'd bump into him. He felt like he had to douse himself with water eighteen times a day and he couldn't even put out the fire with another girl. They were too boring, too steady, too flirty, too not brunette, too brown eyed, too compliant.

Finally, he took to avoiding her. It was the only way. He had to make sure that she couldn't run into him, so he took to the wall, to building it and making it better. Not just to protect her though. Not just to make sure that she and Octavia were safe. But to make sure that the entire camp was safe. Then, he'd build a place for Clarke and himself and Octavia. Separate places for himself and Octavia- away from Clarke's place. Even though Octavia would probably stay with Clarke a lot. She liked Clarke. She liked the way that Clarke would play with her hair when she asked and the way Clarke kept peppermint leaves in the drop ship that she would let Octavia suck on when she was feeling sad. It was too weird that his sister liked the girl who wouldn't stop pulling fairy tales on him.

He grew to expect the clichés. He dodged her at the campfire drinking games, knowing better than to play Spin the Bottle if she was in the circle. He avoided being alone in tents with her. Damn it, if he had to speak to her, he made sure that Raven or Jasper were present. Not Finn though. He couldn't watch Finn make puppy dog eyes at Clarke while she had blood on her cheek. And he definitely couldn't stand to be alone with her- just in case he had to wipe the blood off her cheek. He avoided every cliché except for one- the damsel in distress. He just never expected himself to be the damsel.

He was standing tall on the rocks, looking over the area to make sure that it was clear while Clarke, Jasper, Monty, and a few of the other kids gathered seaweed and whatever else Clarke picked out. It was also the perfect vantage point to watch her blonde head bob in the sun. The scalp pinkened where the sun touched it and he wanted to shout down for her to put something on her damn head so she wouldn't get sunburnt. But he turned so he wouldn't have to look at her and his feet slipped. The last thing he remembered was the sharp crack that sounded like it came from inside his body.

He woke up to a mermaid's kiss and a harsh compression on his chest, all accentuated by the roar of an angel. "Breathe, you idiot! Spit out the water and breathe! If you don't start breathing, I'm telling Octavia that it was your own stupidity that got you killed."

Then the lips were back on his, forcing air down his throat and forcing water up. He rolled onto his side and coughed hard, spraying out fire water and gagging on whatever else came up. From behind him, a rough hand smacked at his back, pushing the water up further. Clarke ordered, "That's it. Spit it all out so I can get you back and take care of your head, you idiot."

When it felt like everything was up, Bellamy rolled onto his back and stared up at Clarke. Her blonde hair hung in soaking ringlets around her face. He said dumbly, "You're wet."

"Yeah, that's because I had to go into the water and drag you out. We all heard your thick skull hit the rock. Damn it, Bellamy! You're lucky I was here! Everybody in this fucking camp is going to learn CPR. Do you understand me? Everybody!"

"Princess, my head hurts and I think my mouth tastes like vomit, but I'm going to kiss you anyway," he warned her of it seconds before he grabbed her neck and dragged her down to kiss her soundly. She let him for a second before she shoved him away.

"Bellamy, you can kiss me when you've chewed at least ten of those damn peppermint leaves. And after I check your brain. I doubt anything is messed up but I think it would be hard to mess up your head more than it is so I'm going to look anyway. You're not going to be allowed to sleep for at least twelve hours. God, I'm going to have to keep you awake. You're such an asshole, Bellamy Blake."

"I can kiss you when I've chewed peppermint?" It was the only part of all of it that she'd heard.

"Yes, Bellamy," she sighed, not even staggered by his kiss. "But all the peppermint is back at the drop ship so you're going to have to wait."

"I can kiss you again?" he repeated, still dumbfounded.

Her eyes softened when she stopped examining his hair line and met his eyes again. She smiled and said quietly, "Yeah, you can kiss me again."


	5. Chapter 5

**Animals- Maroon 5**

She wasn't sure when he started watching her. It may have been sometime after Raven landed. Sometime after the entire camp found out that she and Finn had once been a thing. Maybe that was when his gaze went from the lazy, disinterested gaze of the Rebel King to the burning, predatory focus of an animal. The first time she noticed it, she was on her way across the campsite and happened to look up in time to meet his eyes across the fire. With the night around him and his dark body almost fading into it, the fire lit up his eyes, making them glow like the eyes in the bushes in kid's cartoons. His face was stone and almost unreadable. There was nothing there that let her know why he was studying her, watching her. Like the panther that attacked them in the woods, she was reminded of being circled by a great beast. It took her a second to shake off the gaze and head to her tent. She was almost unsteady from it. She'd never been looked at that way before. Like she was about to be eaten from her toes up.

And it only got worse. Maybe he'd always stared at her like that and she only started noticing it after the first time she had sex. Maybe he stared at every woman like that and she was no specialty. But, when that gaze was on her, ripping off her clothes and claiming her as his, she didn't feel like any woman on the earth had ever been looked at like that. The way Bellamy looked at her was something that was far older than the nuclear war. She started avoiding him. It was the only thing she could do. She couldn't focus with his gaze burning a hole in her back. It made her sweat. It made her drip for him, in more ways than one. What started as her noticing the fire reflecting in his eyes that reminded her of the hottest she'd ever felt, turned into him visiting her in her tent at night.

It started out with a dream about him coming in her tent to kiss her. A small, almost innocent kiss. But the dreams only got further and further along until she would sit up panting, reaching out for him to pull him back to her. The night she sat up and let out a primal growl was the night she knew she was in deep. Octavia, who was sleeping a few cots over, grumbled half-asleep, "Keep your nightmares to yourself."

Clarke smoothed her hand over her face and tried not to snarl back, "Then tell your brother to stop visiting my dreams."

But he didn't. He was there at night, and he was there in the day. Catching her when she stumbled, his gaze heavy and focused on her own when he grabbed at her elbow. It would have been easier if his eyes would sweep up and down her body. If his eyes would catch on her breasts or if he would leer at her. But it wasn't leering. It was just invasive. It was like he was picking her apart and feasting on the meat. They didn't argue any less, they didn't care any more about pissing off the other person, he just distracted her with the way his dark brown eyes glowed.

Finally, it came down to Clarke storming into his tent when she caught him watching her over the fire again one night. She'd been on her way to the drop ship when she caught his eyes and stumbled, her toes sticking to the dirt. She'd grasped out wildly and smacked into Finn, slamming her open palm into his chest and clenching his fist in her shirt, her nails catching across his skin. Finn yelped in pain but did his part to steady her and, when she looked up, Bellamy was smirking at them. He rolled his eyes and mouthed something that she thought was, 'Really?'

Finn couldn't even get words out before she was dismissing him with a wave and stomping into the drop ship. For two hours, she cleaned and reorganized, throwing things just to hear them bang against the metal sides. At first, nobody approached the drop ship, waiting for her to calm down from whatever pissed her off. But then, Miller slipped in the door and stood there, the short straw he'd drawn sticking out from behind his ear. When she noticed him, she demanded, "What? What do you want?"

"Bellamy wanted me to let you know that he's sending some men out tomorrow." It was a lie. Bellamy wanted everybody to finish the wall. But it was decided around the fire that whatever had Clarke pissed centered around Bellamy, because it always centered around Bellamy.

"Of course he is!" Clarke snapped. She threw the bundle of rags she was holding into the corner and stomped towards the door. "That jackass better believe that he is not doing that!"

Miller didn't have time to say anything else. She whipped aside the hangings that covered the drop ship doorway and she marched across the camp, the dirt raising in puffs around her boots as she made her way to Bellamy's tent. She didn't bother with any pleasantries. She just marched into where Bellamy had just entered. He was still in the process of taking his shirt off.

"What are you thinking, you dumbass!?"

His shoulders tensed immediately but he finished pulling his shirt off so he could throw it onto the table in front of him. He turned to face her and his voice was bored when he asked, "What are you talking about now, princess?"

But his eyes were the same heated gaze as always.

"You can't send kids out there tomorrow! Monty said that it looks like it's going to rain. That it looks like we're going to have another really bad hurricane force storm! And you're being a pig headed asshole like always and…." He could tell the second she noticed that he wasn't wearing a shirt and that the top button of his jeans was undone, revealing the dark hair that ran from his belly button and disappeared into what was covered by the zipper. There was no way he was wearing underwear.

"Got a problem, princess? Other than false accusations?" Bellamy drawled, his voice slow and almost laughing.

"No!" she said quickly, too quickly. Her voice bounced around in the tent. "You've got a problem. You've got a staring problem and you're stubborn and you never think about anybody except yourself."

"I think about my sister," Bellamy corrected her.

"Fine! You think about Octavia. Octavia and yourself and that just doesn't work if you're going to lead this camp with me. And you still have a staring problem that you won't do anything about! Seriously, what is up with the staring?"

He didn't expect her to wait for an answer, but he still had a damn good one. "Maybe I like what I see, princess."

Clarke didn't have a response. Her mouth opened and closed for a long, silent moment before she stuttered out, "What?"

"Maybe. I. Like. What. I. See. Princess." He enunciated each word with a step towards her until his bare chest was millimeters from her heaving one. "I know you like what you see. Because how would you know that I'm always staring unless you were staring back."

"I don't look at you like I'm about to eat you," she argued. Her head was tilted almost all the way back so she could stare at him.

"Me wanting to eat you isn't a bad thing, princess," he replied, his voice way too husky. It sent shivers down her spine and made a blush creep up her face. "Have you ever tried it?"

"Bellamy, you should know I've never slept with you."

"Trust me, I know I'd remember you, princess."

She tried to pull her eyes away from him but it just made them fall to the tan skin stretched taut over what seemed like miles of muscles. She dragged her eyes back up to his face and Bellamy asked, "Have you been dreaming about it, princess?"

He did the best/worst thing he could have possibly done. He began the pacing around her. Slowly, deliberately. When he was behind her, he murmured, "I don't mind that I'm an animal. Do you?"

"Bellamy," her voice was breathless, begging, and she wasn't even sure what she was begging for.

"Tell me you want me, and you can have me in a second," he promised. "I won't touch you until you ask me too."

He circled again and his scent was too close. Every time he circled her, it whirled around her like the twisters she'd learned about on the ark. Sweat, smoke, trees, dirt, and gunpowder. Every inhale shot head straight to her core and she wondered what kind of spark it would take to get all that gunpowder to ignite. Nobody had ever told her how to handle a man who could keep fire and gunpowder on him all at the same time and not burst into flames.

"Bellamy," she sighed again and he was suddenly right in front of her, his lips so close to hers that she was breathing in his breath.

"Just say you want me, princess. I want to eat you alive."

She didn't say another word. She just leaned forward and captured his lips with hers. Like an animal, the growl that he released was wild, feral almost. And he was on her like a wildfire. She'd given him permission to explore her and he was intent on picking her apart piece at a time. She didn't know when it went from his talented tongue exploring her mouth, to his teeth nibbling at the skin on her neck. She didn't know when he'd moved them both to the bed and nestled beneath her legs so he could crawl down her body. He ate her alive and, like an animal, she howled her release.

He tasted like smoke and meat and barely contained rage and her for the rest of the night, but, at the end, when he snarled into her shoulder as his entire body tensed, his eyes raising up towards the ceiling of the tent like he was howling at the moon, he rolled off of her and, before she could move, he grabbed at her and curled into her. She rolled onto her side and he folded them together, tucking them nice and neat into one another.

"Feel more like animals now, princess?" he murmured, his voice sleepy against her ear.

"Are you purring?" she didn't know how she could form words. Or how she could get her voice to sound as teasing and light as it did.

"Wolves don't purr, princess. But they do mark their territory." He pressed a kiss to a tender hickey on her neck. "So you know that if I see Spacewalker's hands on you again, I'll tear them off of him."

"And you know that I know enough about the human body to damage you so bad nobody will ever be able to piece you back together again if I ever see another girl cross into your tent," she retorted.

The last thing she felt was his smile growing against the back of her neck before she fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**I Don't Dance- Lee Brice**

He sat hunched over the fire, glaring at the swirling Grounders as the drums rang in the air. Peace treaties were not his cup of tea. The defeat of the Mountain Men had been his and Clarke's big hurrah. He didn't understand why they had to have another party for it. Especially one where everybody seemed to be throwing themselves at each other. Their bodies glistening with sweat while they wriggled in the moonlight. He was brooding, and he knew it.

"Come on, Bellamy." Clarke's voice sounded in his ear and he turned his head to see her grinning behind him. "One dance won't kill you."

"I don't dance," he informed her brusquely.

She rolled her eyes. "Everybody dances, Bellamy. This isn't a waltz. It's a movement. God, listen to the flutes! How can you not want to dance when the flutes are like this?"

"How many drinks have you had, princess?" He turned further so he could completely stare at her and she rested her hand on his shoulder.

"That, Bellamy Blake, is none of your business. Come on. One dance and I'll leave you alone." Her blue eyes were glowing. He'd never seen them glow like that before. Her cheeks were pink in the light of the fire and laughter was etched into her face.

"You'll never leave me alone, princess. That's kind of what you do," he said drily.

"Quit being a spoil sport. Come on. It's one dance."

"No," he said firmly. "I don't dance."

"Fine," she said petulantly, "but just know that I think you're a big coward and that's why you won't come dance. And I'm telling everybody."

"Fine," he growled back.

She pushed at his shoulder and he grabbed at the log to steady himself. When he looked up again, she was back in the throng of bodies, laughing and twisting, her head thrown back so her hair cascaded down her back and tickled her back right above her ass. If he listened close enough, he could almost hear her laughter above the drums, and he wondered what it would sound like if she were laughing in his ear, if she were close enough that the breath from her laugh warmed his face. He was still watching her when one of the Grounders danced his way over to her and looped his arm around her waist.

All of the Grounder men were huge, and this one was especially large, even bigger than Lincoln, and he dwarfed Clarke. His body width was twice that of hers, and he stood two feet taller than her, at least. It looked ridiculous. But Clarke laughed harder, her mouth opening wider and her hands coming up to rest on the big Grounder's chest. Before Bellamy knew what was happening, he was up off the log and walking over to the crowd, his hand reaching for the pistol that wasn't tucked safely in the waistband of his pants, but was instead hidden in his bag in his tent, at Clarke's request.

He slipped into the crowd and stalked towards her, sliding in behind her so his arm could wrap around her waist above the Grounder's. He glared up into the confused and cloudy eyes of the man and said tensely, "Thanks for holding my spot. I'm feeling a lot better now."

With that, he yanked backwards, tugging Clarke into his body and away from the Grounders. She turned her head to look up at him, her brow furrowed, and he leaned forward to mutter in her ear, "Nobody is going to say that I'm a coward."

"Is that all, Bellamy?" Her voice was almost taunting and a growl escaped his throat as he yanked her tighter against him and ground against her.

"I never said I can't dance, princess. I said I don't dance," he warned.

Later that night, when he pulled her into his tent and pressed her into the mattress, he insisted again that he wasn't jealous of the Grounder, he just wanted to make sure she didn't tell anybody that he was a coward. A couple years later, when Abby insisted on a traditional wedding, and he held Clarke in his arms while they swayed to the music, he informed her, "Do you know how lucky you are?"

"Mmm. I married such a humble man," she said sarcastically, her head resting on his chest.

"No. Not to marry me," he replied. "Because you are the only person I've ever danced with."

"I am not," she retorted. "You danced with Octavia on your feet when you were little and she was hidden still."

"That's different. You are the only woman I have ever danced with that wasn't related to me," he corrected.

"I take it you don't count what happens under the sheets as dancing then," she teased.

"Princess, you make it impossible to compliment you," he sighed, even as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

"I'm just trying to keep you in line," she retorted. "And I think it's queen now that I've married the king."

"Everybody else can call you queen while they wonder how you got me to settle down."

"And I'll tell them I entranced you with my dance moves and my sharp tongue."

"Careful with comments about your tongue, princess, or we'll cut this little celebration short and I'll take you back to our castle," he warned.

"Whatever the hell you want."

The entire camp watched as Bellamy threw his wife over his shoulder and marched to their tent. Abby shouted warnings about that not being the way to carry a new bride of the threshold of a new home, but Bellamy turned around and shouted back, "We've never been normal, Abby. Why start now?"

He turned and Clarke called out, "The wedding was beautiful! Thank you all for coming! Stay and party all you want!"


	7. Chapter 7

**So this is the first multi-chapter song fic because I couldn't just stop once I started! Let me know what you think of it! I love your reviews! **

**Devil's Backbone- Civil War**

"Alright, Jas. I'll see you tomorrow," Clarke sighed as she looped her messenger bag over her shoulder. "Email the Ark hospital about the x rays and tell them that I will personally go up there and pull those results out of their asses if they don't get back to me."

"Will do, Clarke," Jasper called out from the back of the clinic. Clarke had spent the first year she was in the Devil's Backbone getting the x ray machine so she wouldn't have patients screaming under her hands when she was trying to find their broken bones. There had never been a doctor in the Devil's Backbone who fought so hard for anything. They'd all claimed they were just serving their time until they were welcomed back into the medical society. Clarke was the first one to ever firmly say that she was staying, and she'd proven it without a doubt to anyone in the clinic.

Clarke checked the door one last time before she stepped out into the dark street. Jasper and Monty lived upstairs of the clinic, but she lived across town. It was the best way to avoid the Ark hospital checking on her. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her and stepped forward, only to suddenly have a bag dragged over her head from behind. She punched wildly and, within seconds, her hands were tightly bound behind her back. Her feet followed quickly when she kicked backwards and hit somebody hard. She warned, "There is going to be hell to pay when you take this bag off of my head."

She was thrown over somebody's shoulder and the movement started immediately. Running, then the roar of a bike, but hands always on her. She didn't know how they were driving and holding her steady, but she constantly cussed, warning them carefully about what she was going to do to them when they put her down, and, eventually they did. The roaring of the bike stopped and the hands were on her again, moving her out of the cold and into a slightly warmer area, finally untying her legs and putting her down on her feet. She warned, "I'm just going to kick the shit out of you. I'm really not happy about this."

"Shut up, doc." They pulled the bag off her head and she was met by a blinding light. She squinted before looking around the room, taking in her captors. The room was clean, but she was clearly still in the Devil's Backbone, ruling out those from the Ark that wanted to see what she was up to. There were four captors, all dressed in hoodies that she didn't know if they were black or just dirty. Two boys, two girls. One of the boys was a tall, dark skinned boy who looked down at her with a stern set to his face. The other was a greasy rat of a man smirking at her while he leaned against the wall. The girls were complete opposites to one another. A blonde with tight braids and dirt smeared across her cheekbones and a brunette with angry burning blue eyes.

Then, Clarke's eyes scanned the room further, finding a bed in the corner, and a man sprawled out on the bed, shirtless with red stained wraps tight around his waist. The stains were on the left side, closest to the door. His dark curls were caked to his head with sweat and Clarke could tell that the pallid skin was usually olive. The dark freckles across the bridge of his nose were startling in comparison to his gray skin, and Clarke sighed. The brunette girl snapped, clearly trying to keep the shaking out of her voice, "You are going to fix him, or we are going to kill you."

"Yeah, yeah," Clarke said drily, "Save your energy. This isn't my first kidnapping. Untie my hands and tell me what happened to him."

"Gunshot," the tall dark skinned boy said solemnly as his switchblade appeared from his pockets and cut through the zip tie binding her hands.

She nodded and rubbed at her wrists before she tied her long blonde curls up and moved to the bed. "How long ago?"

"Two days," the blonde answered.

"You should have come to get me after one." Clarke rested her hand on the boy's forehead and felt for the fever she already knew was there. She moved her fingers down his face, pressing at his cheekbones to wipe away the sheen of sweat, and finding their way to his neck, where she felt for his pulse carefully, raising her other arm to stare at the watch ticking away on her wrist. The four other people in the room watched in silence as she nodded and moved her hands down to the bandages around his waist.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" the brunette demanded as Clarke began pulling them away from his skin.

"Checking the wound. If you can't be quiet or useful, get out," Clarke ordered harshly.

"Do you know who you're talking to? Do you know what we could do to you if we felt like it?" the oily one had a voice that matched.

"I'm speaking to the gang the 100," Clarke answered without looking away from carefully peeling away the wraps. "This is probably the grand Bellamy Blake, blue eyes over there is probably his sister, big quiet one is Miller-his sergeant at arms-, and I don't know the other two of you. I've only been in the Devil's Backbone a year and a half. I know Anya's crowd better than yours."

"Don't bring the Grounders up while you're here," the oily one hissed.

Clarke flipped her hand up and waved him off. She peeled away the last of the bandages and gritted her teeth at the sight of the bullet wound. It was swollen and a burning red. The flesh around it radiated heat and Clarke slid her hand between Bellamy Blake's back and the bed. There was no exit wound. Clarke said out loud, "No exit wound. Bullet's still inside. It may have hit a bone. It's probably fragmented. Definite beginnings of an infection."

The man groaned and writhed beneath her fingers. She pressed her free hand to his chest to hold him still and his eyes fluttered open to reveal the deepest brown she'd ever seen. She ordered, "There is a flashlight in my bag. Please tell me you brought my bag."

The blonde moved to dig through Clarke's messenger bag and Bellamy's eyes turned to the four other people in the room. His voice was a thin rasp when he said, "You kidnapped a princess?"

It was his sister who snatched the flashlight out of the blonde's hand and marched across the room to fall to her knees in front of her brother. She grabbed his hand and informed him, "We brought you a doctor, Bell. She's going to make you better."

He let out a wheezing laugh and replied, "Octavia, you need to know…"

"No more talking," Clarke cut him off. "If you think you'll be saying your last words, you'll actually be saying your last words. No giving up, sir. My patients aren't allowed to give up."

She grasped his chin and yanked his face towards him so she could shine the light in them. She sighed, "Do you even know where you are, Bellamy Blake?"

"I wish I was at your house, princess. Be a lot more fun than this."

"I've heard you were charming, Bellamy Blake. Didn't know it extended to when you had a hole in your side."

"You should see me when there's no hole. Could be fun."

"I see it through to the end, Blake. When I'm done, there won't be a hole. Now be a good patient and shut up." She released his face and turned back to his people. She ordered, "I need my bag. My assistant will know what to prepare for me. I need to call him. Give me my cell phone."

"So you can call your higher ups? I don't think so," Octavia spat out at her.

"So I can take care of your brother," Clarke growled back. "Retract your claws. You can listen in on my conversation. If I sound weird, kill me. Now give me my cell phone so I can take care of this."

Octavia commanded, "Monroe, my knife, and the princess's phone."

When Clarke's phone was handed to her, she pressed a few buttons and held it to her ear while it rang. When Jasper's voice sounded on the other end, she ordered, "I need my emergency med bag, Jas. Have you been studying your terminology?"

"Nope." His mouth popped on the p.

"Of course you haven't. I need the green stuff for infections, my long tweezers, my sharp little scissors, a lot of gauze, a lot of alcohol, some of Monty's moonshine, and my scalpel set. A little brunette is going to pick it up in fifteen minutes. Don't hit on her," Clarke warned.

"Got it. And, Clarke," Jasper paused for a second, "do you need the Coladapen?"

"No, no Coladapen. Just whatever pain killers we have that the cancer patients don't need this week," Clarke answered, her voice assuring. "I won't be in for the next couple days. Harper and Lexa can handle it."

"Whatever you say, boss," Jasper replied, his voice at ease once again.

Clarke hung up and tossed Monroe her phone again. She informed her, "It's a disposable. A burn phone. It can't be traced. I don't want my higher ups finding me any more than you do. Now you, go get my bag, and the rest of you, get me water, the cleanest and coldest you can find. Has he eaten anything in the past two days?"

"Soup at first. Nothing since yesterday," Monroe replied.

"Then I'm going to need a whole lot of water. All of you, move, now!" Clarke barked and Miller and Octavia moved quickly. The greasy boy just grinned.

"Brave princess," Bellamy chuckled.

"I told you to be quiet," Clarke shushed him. "You're going to be loud enough when I start poking around inside of you."

"Murphy, Monroe, get her whatever she needs." Bellamy ordered before his deep brown eyes closed again.


	8. Chapter 8

Clarke had slammed the door in their faces as soon as her bag arrived and Miller and Murphy were holding Octavia down as the shouts sounded from the other side of the door. Octavia screamed, "She's killing him."

"She's not killing him," Monroe reminded her, even though her eyes were doubtful. "She told us this was going to happen. She said she had to cut the bullet out. She said it was going to hurt."

"She said that so she could kill him!" Octavia shouted, struggling against the hold they had on her wrists. "She mentioned the Grounders. She mentioned Anya! She's going to kill him!"

"She's not going to kill him, Octavia," Miller growled, yanking her back away from the door.

"I'm not killing your damn brother," Clarke shouted through the door. "Miller, Monroe, one of you get your ass in here and help me hold him down. I wanted to fucking tie him!"

"Murphy…" Miller started.

"You send that mother fucker in here and I will cut his throat with the same scalpel I'm using to try to save your leader, you ungrateful assholes. I'm literally on my second hour of surgery! Miller, get in here now!"

"She's bossier than Bellamy is," Miller sighed, handing Octavia's wrist to Murphy so somebody would be holding onto her. "Take her to Atom."

He entered the room and shut the door behind him, staring at the back of the blonde doctor. Clarke had shrugged off her jacket and was only wearing a white tank top that was stained with blood. She was holding Bellamy down with one hand and the table beside her was covered with bloody gauze and bullet fragments. But Miller stared at the criss crossing scars that ran from her left shoulder blade, down her left side, disappearing into the tank top. Clarke didn't even look at him when she snapped, "Miller, I called you in here to hold him down. Not stare at me. Now hold him down."

Miller rushed over to grab Bellamy's shoulders and pin them to the bed. Clarke nodded at him and climbed on top of his legs so that she straddled his waist and went back to working on him. Miller watched as she worked in silence to pull the bullet fragments from his leader's side. When Bellamy's eyes would open, she would glance up at them and hum softly for a second to soothe him. Miller asked, "Don't you have something to put him to sleep?"

"We're in the Devil's Backbone," she replied. "I have to fight to get any supplies at all. Anesthetic is low on the list. Last time I asked, they told me that if it was that bad, the patient would die anyway."

"The Grounders have anesthetics," Miller snarled.

"I know. Anya grows them," Clarke responded. "And, as long as I stitch up her people, she gives me them sometimes. But it's been a while since I was kidnapped, so I didn't have any in the clinic. He's out with the pain again. You can let go."

It was another thirty minutes before Clarke announced wearily, "That's the last of the bullet fragments, at least the last I can find."

"So he's done?"

Clarke snorted. "How do you people survive?"

She peeled herself off of Bellamy and dipped her hands in the bucket of water they'd brought her to clean her tools. She took a shot of Monty's moonshine quickly before grabbing her suture set. Her stitches were neat and even, even when Bellamy twitched and Miller stilled him. When the stitches were done, she smeared the skin around his wound with the green ointment and carefully wrapped him back up. Then, she slid off of his body once again only to lay next to him on the cot. She rolled to face the wall and informed Miller, "I'm going to sleep. I think this makes about twenty four hours I've been awake. Tell Octavia she can see her brother now. I'll wake up when he wakes up."

"Don't you want to…"

"No. If I'm in here with him, I'll wake up when he wakes up," Clarke repeated before she yanked the blanket up over her shoulders and fell asleep.

"You poke me one more time, and I will break your finger, cast it so that it heals, and break it again." But the elbow dug into her side once again and she opened her eyes, being dragged back to reality to find herself in the dinghy bed of another gang member. But she had all of her clothes on, and she could smell blood mixed in with the alcohol. The events of the night before found their way into her brain and she rolled over to look at her patient, who was wriggling in his sleep.

"Alright. I know how this works," Clarke sighed. "This isn't my first rodeo, buddy." She climbed over the street proclaimed rebel leader to grab the glass of water off his bed. She took a long drink of it before she cupped his face to push his mouth open and dribble some in. He instinctively gulped at it and she patiently dribbled a little at a time into his mouth until the cup was empty. She put it back on the bedside table and continued, "Do you know how many times I've been kidnapped since I was sent here? Thirteen. Thirteen kidnappings." She turned back to unwrap his bandages.

"And you're lucky number fourteen. First for the 100 though. Usually I'm working with your equally gorgeous, but usually less quiet counterpart. Anya usually doesn't call me princess. She prefers doctor, or sunlight. Kind of weird, but she's only gotten me into bed once, and she passed out before she could do too much. Drunk as she was, I was pretty shocked she got my pants off," Clarke chuckled.

She finished unwrapping his waist and wiped away the excess ointment to look at the stitches. "You'd think that she'd stop making them put a bag over my head after she tried to go down on me. Nope. Bag over my head. Every damn time. I swear sometimes I get antsy if I go a week or two without the damn feeling of burlap on my face. My streak since the first time is two and a half weeks. Two and a half whole weeks without getting kidnapped."

She grabbed the jar of ointment off the table and dipped her fingers in it to smear it across his wound again. "And now your sister's getting me involved in a damn gang war. She's either going to kill me, because she thinks I'm killing you, or she's going to return me, and Anya's going to kill me later. I'm trying to make the Devil's Backbone better for everybody, and instead I'm going to die in some dirty hovel."

She rewrapped his wound and climbed over him again to fall asleep as soon as her head hit the thin pillow. She was woken hours later by Octavia poking her in the side. When she mumbled an acknowledgement of Octavia's presence, Octavia demanded harshly, "When is my brother going to wake up?"

"When he's damn good and ready," Clarke replied. She rolled over and pressed her hand to his forehead without opening her eyes. "His fever broke. You've been keeping cold rags on him like I told you to."

"Yeah, well it doesn't seem like you're trying to kill him," Octavia admitted.

"How surprising." Clarke slid her fingers to his throat and informed Octavia, "If you put your fingers where mine are, you can feel his heartbeat. You'll know if he's alive or not. When do you plan on taking me back?"

"When he can walk out of this room on his own," Octavia replied.

"Awesome." Clarke rolled over and went back to sleep.

Clarke woke up again to a movement in the bed and an arm being thrown around her waist. It was immediately followed by a loud, pained groan. Clarke opened her eyes and sighed, "Well would you look at that. Somebody decided to join the land of the living."

"You know, I thought you were just here to patch me up." Bellamy's voice was strained and Clarke rolled her eyes.

"Let go," she ordered. "I need to check your bullet wound before I find some food. Or shout for some. And I've got to pee like crazy. Will they let me out of this fucking room without a bag on my head now that you're awake and can give orders?"

"I've been in my right mind for two minutes and you've only gotten sexier," he teased. "Bathroom's in the corner. That door over there. Everybody thinks it's a closet."

"Thanks. Don't move too much while I'm in there."

Clarke turned and ignored the brown eyes on her as she made her way to the bathroom. The brown eyes that clung to the scarring of her left shoulder, like all eyes did. She called over her right shoulder instead, "Is there a shirt I can borrow too?"

"Hanging up in the shower in there usually. The clean ones are in the shower, dirty ones are on the floor. See if there's some running water today and you can wash up. You smell like blood and shit."

"Yeah, guess what, sweetheart, you've been in a bed for four days with a festering wound," Clarke retorted. "And I was nice enough not to tell your friends that you peed yourself."

"If you ever repeat that, I'll rip your tongue out," he warned.

"I've heard that threat before."

Clarke slipped into the bathroom and relieved herself. Water was actually working that day and she managed to wipe the blood off of herself in the sink. The mirror above the sink had long since been shattered, and the bathroom was too dim for it to matter. She left her bloody tank top on the floor and pulled down one of the gray t shirts hanging in the rusted shower stall. It was nice cotton and she wandered which truck it had 'fallen off of,' as things tended to do in the Devil's Backbone. Getting anything from the next ring of Ark, the largest settlement on the east coast after the fallout, was next to impossible. Pheonix, at the center, had the best, and it moved outwards from there, ending in the outcrop known as the Devil's Backbone, where criminals and the worst of the poor were left to die.

Clarke walked back into the bedroom in time to rush to Bellamy's side as he tried to push himself up off the bed.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, grabbing him as he stood unsteadily.

"Bed smells like piss," he answered. "Going to move to a different room."

"Then call your people to help you, you idiot. I need to get back to my clinic. I don't have time to stitch you up again and deal with your sister's blame."

"I don't need…."

"Hey! I'm killing your leader!" Clarke suddenly roared. Thundering footsteps closely followed and the door flew open to reveal Octavia, Miller, Murphy, and one that Clarke didn't recognize. Clarke motioned towards Bellamy and ordered, "He wants to move to a different area. And he needs food. And a bucket of water. Get my stuff too. He can't walk on his own."

"I'm fine."

"He'll tear stitches and I'll let him bleed out," Clarke warned, her face solemn.

"You're on thin ice, princess," Octavia threatened.


	9. Chapter 9

The room upstairs was not much an improvement to the bedroom downstairs, but there was a ratty armchair, the bed was clean, and they supplied Clarke with a bucket of water and two heaping plates of food. Octavia and Bellamy talked excitedly while they ate. Sometimes their voices were high and happy, teasing one another. But they would drop low and suspicious the next second, throwing glares at Clarke where she was curled up on the armchair, making her way through meat that looked a lot like pigeon, and tasted better than rat. There were even canned vegetables that looked like green beans, but Clarke didn't care if they weren't.

Finally, after a series of whispered orders, Octavia left the room and Clarke put her empty plate down to inform him, "You need to be washed."

"Hell no, princess."

"My name's Clarke. It's nice to meet you, Bellamy Blake. You can bathe yourself out of that bucket, or I can do it for you."

"You just want to see me naked," Bellamy accused in an attempt to deflect her order.

"I've seen you shirtless and slept next to you in bed,' Clarke replied blankly. "I wasn't that impressed."

"That is because I wasn't able to do anything," Bellamy said with a smirk that many women in the Devil's Backbone called charming. "It'll be a lot different now that I can touch you."

"It would be me touching you, rebel leader, and trust me, I'm not impressed." Clarke stood up and stretched before she rubbed her left shoulder absentmindedly, staring at him.

"I'll do it myself," Bellamy finally sneered. "How long were you in Phoenix to have the entire monitoring system in?"

"Born and raised in Phoenix," Clarke answered honestly, taking her seat in the chair as he unbuttoned his jeans and slid out of them. She kept her eyes on him, her head quirked to the side. "Exiled a year and a half ago. I had the surgery two months after I got to the Devil's Backbone."

"Anesthesia or no?" Bellamy sat on the edge of the bed to dip the rag into the bucket of water.

"There wasn't any available. My lab assistant did it after work one day. Little girl came in with pneumonia. I got a call saying that I couldn't give her medicine, because she was a third child. I had it ripped out the same day."

"Feeling like confiding, princess? Because you lived a life of privilege," Bellamy spat out, all the flirting gone while the dirt was scrubbed off his skin. "You had food every day. Protection. Warmth. My sister was the last one born before they started rounding up teenage girls and sterilizing them. She was born in an abandoned warehouse. Our mother died the next day. They pretend that they don't feed us because we're rebellious. Because we don't deserve it. They don't feed us because it's easier. It's easier for them to pretend that we're worthless and that people like us caused the wars, the famines, the diseases. It's easier to look down on us that way."

"I know," she said calmly. "Bellamy, don't you think I know that? But I'm not there, am I? I'm here, eating every other day, being kidnapped once every other week, and healing people who would rather slit my throat than speak to me in a civil manner. I'm ducking the people who are looking for me, just like you're ducking the Grounders. Don't speak to me like I'm some princess in a tower. I might have been once upon a time, but since the day I got exiled for five years, for trying to distribute medicine and food into the Devil's Backbone, I stopped being the princess you think I am."

"I'm not here for your sob story," he spat venomously.

"And I'm not here for your mood swings." With that, she threw her legs over the arm of the chair, leaned into it, and closed her eyes. "If you're not going to let me be useful, and do what I was kidnapped to do, then I'm going to sleep."

"Clarke…Clarke….Clarke, wake the fuck up! Clarke….princess!"

"What do you want, oh fearless rebel leader?" Clarke muttered sarcastically, sitting up and rubbing the crick out of her neck. She looked over to find his dark eyes focused on her intently. He was sitting up in bed, his elbows on his knees and his dark curls matted to his head with sweat again.

"I need to go to the bathroom and my people are out today. It's just you and me, princess," he growled. "I tried to make it on my own, and it pulls when I move."

"And that means I need to check the stitches. Come on." Clarke moved to the side of the bed and leaned down to loop his arm over her shoulder.

"You really think you're going to be able to lift me, princess?"

"Trust me, Blake. I've got this." With that, she straightened up, dragging his body off the bed. They took slow, faltering steps out of the room and down the hall where the upstairs bathroom was. She helped him inside and motioned to the toilet.

"I'm not sitting like a girl," he warned her. He braced his hand on the sink counter and jerked his head towards the door. "You can stay in here and get an eyeful, or you can go out there and wait for me."

"You know, at least when Anya's people kidnap me, they ask me for things instead of being assholes. And they're big enough to carry their own people."

"Damn Russians," Bellamy grumbled. "They ruined this damn place before we moved in."

"They saved their people from the fallout over there before it happened. They're smart. And they don't consider themselves Russians anymore," Clarke lectured as she moved to stand outside the door.

"Bastardized Russians then," Bellamy growled.

He finished pissing and Clarke helped him back to the room. She sat him down on the bed and unwrapped his bandages so she could poke at his wound. He hissed and she scolded, "Don't get shot next time."

She smeared more of the green ointment on it and then drank half the glass of water on the table before she handed the rest of it to him. When she watched him drink it, she moved towards the chair again but stopped when he called out, "You don't have to sleep in the chair, you know."

"Look, I'm tired. When your people kidnapped me, I'd been working from five in the morning to midnight. I've been getting an hour of sleep at a time so I can make sure that you don't die. I need to sleep," she argued.

"I know. But you don't have to sleep in the chair. You can sleep in the bed. I'll just move you over when I want to sleep."

Clarke stared at him for a minute before she warned, "Nothing happens."

"I have a hole in my size and you're the only person who can fix it. I'm not going to try anything," he promised.

She nodded and crawled into the bed with her back to him and her face to the wall. It took her a few minutes to fall asleep with the rebel leader's eyes on her back, but she eventually fell into a heavy sleep.

The calloused fingers tracing the scar on her left shoulder woke her up again and she muttered, "Can't you bug some girl who's actually into you?"

"You get to poke and prod at my body but I can't look at the scar that makes you a little more human?" His breath ghosted over her neck and his fingers dug into her skin a little more.

"I'm a doctor, so yes, I get to poke at you and you don't get to poke at me," Clarke replied, her voice muffled by the dirty pillow under her head.

"I'm stuck in this room with you for an entire day that I've been awake and all you do is poke at me and then sleep. What do you do with your life?"

"I work, Bellamy Blake. So when I don't work, I sleep. Getting kidnapped is a vacation for me. So let me relax."

"I'm bored."

"Then don't get shot." Clarke rolled over to lay on her back and stare up at him.

"Why are you so calm about being kidnapped? Why are you so calm about all this? That scar on your shoulder, that's a full scar. That's a full monitoring system. That's years in Phoenix. You should be like every other doctor in the Devil's Backbone. You should be scared out of your fucking mind. Why aren't you?"

"Because my dad didn't die so I could piss my pants every time somebody gave me a dirty look. He died trying to fix this system, and he left it to me. I don't worry about being here because people here need help, and they recognize that I want to help them. These people aren't bad people. They don't want to hurt me."

"Some of them want to hurt you," Bellamy informed her seriously.

"And I'll cut them open if they do," she replied solemnly. "Is that all you want, Bellamy Blake?"

"I'm bored, princess. Amuse me. I could have my people dump you out in the trenches. Shouldn't you be trying to keep me happy?"

"I'm keeping you alive. If you're bored, tell me about yourself."

"No. You tell me about yourself," he countered quickly.

"What's to tell? Pretty little princess from Phoenix. Got kicked out for feeding the poor. Back in the day I would have been a debutante," Clarke said calmly, keeping her blue eyes on his steady brown ones. His hand rose up so he could drag the sleeve of her shirt up and run his fingers over the scar again.

"Why'd you cut out the monitoring device? You only got five years. You could have done your time, kept out of the worst of it, and made it back into society. You made yourself a target for getting kidnapped when you got that cut out of your arm."

"Yeah, and nobody would trust me with it in my arm. Anyway, I'd rather be here, helping people in the thick of it, than back in Phoenix, eating meat that's not rat and pretending like I'm saving the world."

"Fucking bleeding heart," he accused.

"Yep. Your turn, Bellamy Blake. Go ahead and spill," she ordered. "Patient-doctor confidentiality means I'll never tell anyone anything."

"You told me Anya tried to go down on you," he pointed out.

"Yeah, that's because you were supposed to be dying."

And, just like that, it poured out of Bellamy in rivers. He lay in bed with her, still tracing the scars on her shoulder while he told her about raising Octavia and gathering up the kids in his neighborhood to fight against the Grounder kids that always picked on them, the kids that became the 100. He told her about wanting to get outside of the confines of the circles, about wanting to go out into the wasteland, even if it fried him, just to see it for himself. Because if there were still animals that got in, there was a way for humans to get out. He poured his life in the Devil's Backbone out on her, and she listened calmly, her blue eyes never leaving hers. When, his voice got quiet, and he was too tired to go on, she said softly, "Go to sleep, Bellamy Blake. I'll check on you when I wake up."

"Alright. Princess, when we take you back to the clinic, and I'm better, you're not going to eat rat anymore, alright?"

"Sure, Bellamy."


	10. Chapter 10

***This is the last of the Devil's Backbone universe. Let me know what you thought of it and if you'd like to hear more from this AU. Thank you so much for the reviews and continuing support!****

For two days, they lay in bed, barely moving around the room. When his people came in to check on him, he would move to the chair and they would speak in quiet murmurs while Clarke read some books they brought to her. She taught him how to check his own wounds, talking to him while she did it and telling him exactly how she got the bullet fragments out, exactly how she stitched him up. He asked her questions about everything medical, everything about Phoenix. He asked her every question he could think of, and, in return, she asked questions about the Devil's Backbone. On the third day of her captivity, she lay in bed, fully rested with Bellamy staring down at her, twirling one strand of hair between his fingers. Her book was open but she was paying more attention to the way his breath washed over her every time he exhaled.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked suddenly, making her eyes snap away from her book and up at him.

"What?"

"Can I kiss you? I figure I should ask permission so you don't hit me," he answered logically.

"Why?"

"Because I'm bored and by tomorrow I'll be outside of that door, and you'll be gone. And Anya's kissed you, so I think that if you want to stay on the good side of one of the top gangs in the Devil's Backbone, you should kiss me too," Bellamy said definitively.

"I haven't brushed my teeth in three days," Clarke replied simply.

"Well then go brush your teeth. My toothbrush is on the sink in the bathroom. I'll wait."

"You have toothbrushes here?" Clarke demanded, her eyes suddenly alive with fire. "Real ones? Not rigged ones?"

"Of course I fucking do. You don't?"

"No. I don't have anything," she said slowly, like he was an idiot. "I told you. When I cut my connection with Phoenix, I lost everything. I can send threats to get them to do my lab work, but they don't send me money, food, or anything anymore. I'm out here by myself."

"No more of that. Go brush your teeth," he ordered. "Then come back here so I can kiss you."

She clambered over him on the bed and went to the bathroom. Despite constantly having to climb over him to get anything done, she still slept by the wall and he still slept on the outside of the bed, so he could communicate first whenever anybody came in, but, when it was time to sleep, he curled around her, careful of his side, but burying his face in her hair. Clarke was used to those things. The people in the Devil's Backbone needed comfort and she was often the one providing it. Whether it was medicine, or a soft touch. She even found some minty stuff in the bathroom that she used to brush her teeth before she joined him again, climbing over him so she could lay on her back and stare up at him.

"Feel better?" he asked.

"I feel cleaner," she answered pragmatically. "Bellamy, why do you want to kiss me?"

"Because you're gorgeous," he replied. "And you didn't kill me."

"Those aren't good reasons to kiss somebody," she informed him.

"At least I'm not trying to go down on you," he taunted in return and, when she laughed, he leaned forward to press his lips to the corner of her mouth so she would still the laugh. Her mouth closed and her blue eyes focused on his brown ones, waiting patiently until his lips slanted over hers and her eyes closed.

He pressed his lips to hers and waited patiently, staring down at her before he let his mouth move, softly against hers, and she moved too. He flicked his tongue out against her lips and she parted them, letting him explore her mouth. Her hands rose to tangle in his dark curls and his hand rested on her hip, his fingers tightening around the jutting bone beneath the silky skin. He kissed her soundly, leaving her breathless and panting, her skin flushed. He pulled away to press light kisses across her jaw and then back up to her lips before he pulled away.

"When you're not here because my people kidnapped you, and when there isn't a hole in my side, we're going to do that again," he informed her solemnly.

"Whatever you say, Bellamy Blake. I doubt you're lacking in female comfort."

"Lacking? No. But there's definitely a space in my bed for blonde doctors who aren't afraid to shout at one of the most feared men in the Devil's Backbone."

"And who says that fearless blonde doctors want to be in your bed?"

"If you don't agree, I'll just kidnap you again until you do agree."

"Brute," she accused.

"I'm the leader of a gang, princess. Of course I'm a brute. Go back to reading your book. You can't take it with you when you go."

The next day, she followed Bellamy downstairs. He walked with his back straight and his head high, pretending that he didn't feel any pain at all from the still tender wound. His people greeted him with wine and shouting, and he let them celebrate before he nodded at Monroe and Octavia to take Clarke away. They led her back upstairs to the bathroom and presented her with a bathtub full of steaming water. Octavia said, "It's our way of saying thank you. Bell said you don't have hot water or electricity in your place."

They left her alone to wash the blood and grime off her body that days using the sink hadn't been able to do. Even her hair was clean by the time the water ran cold and she let the grayish liquid slide down the drain. Monroe returned with a towel and clean clothes. She informed her, "Bellamy said you needed new pants and stuff. Your old ones were ripped. We're going to repair them and give them to one of our girls."

She redressed herself in the fresh clothes and her jacket, braiding her hair down her back. Bellamy was still in the living room with his people when she rejoined them and he looped his arm around her shoulders and drew her in tight. He announced, "Everybody, listen up!"

Any eyes that hadn't been on him before were focused on him then. "Clarke Griffin, the princess, has our complete protection. Anywhere she goes, she is protected by the 100. Spread the word. Let everybody know that if the princess needs anything, they help her. And if they need patched up, go to her only. No more back alley med care. And no ripping her off. She's neutral territory. She's allowed to treat anybody, talk to anybody, and be with anybody on the streets, without retribution. The only time we step in is if she needs something. Got it?"

Agreement spread through the crowd and Bellamy grinned down at her, the smile luminescent before he ordered, "Miller, take her back to the clinic. And don't put a damn bag over her head this time. We have blindfolds for fuck's sake."

And, before she knew it, she was blindfolded, tied, and being carried out to a bike. Miller removed the blindfold at her clinic, thanked her again, and disappeared. Inside the clinic, Harper, Lexa, Jasper, and Monty were busy at work. Monty looked up and called out, "Enjoy your vacation?"

"It was a breath of fresh air, as always." Clarke shrugged out of her jacket and asked, "What are we working on today?"

It had been two weeks since her last vacation, even though one of Anya's girls arrived with a gash in her neck that came from the Reapers, a smaller gang that everybody was sure got their money from the Mountain Men, in the Mount Weather circle of the city, the circle right before the Devil's Backbone. Two days after she'd made it back to the clinic, she found a box of fresh clothes and a toothbrush sitting outside of the clinic with her name on it. A week later, the electricity grid to her apartment across town was magically repaired and she had the ability to take lukewarm showers once a week. Her clinic hadn't been broken into, and there were rumors floating around about Bellamy Blake extending a formal invitation to Anya of the Grounders to have peace talks and a discussion about taking care of the Reapers.

"Hey there, princess." Clarke looked up into the shadows across the street and found Bellamy Blake lounging against the wall, his dark curls bouncing around his face and his body wrapped in denim and leather. He was twirling a black blindfold around in his fingers and the grin on his face was mischievous, half-cocked, and lighting up the night. "How are you feeling about a vacation?"

"You know I'm never going to get any work done in this clinic, right?" she said, half-bitterly.

Bellamy just shrugged and pushed up off the wall to swagger over to her. He waited until he was standing right in front of her, his breath ghosting over her face, before he replied, "Yeah, but how often do you get invited to dinner by the leader of the 100?"

"Oh, this is what you call a dinner invitation, huh? Do you always blindfold your girls before you take them on dates?"

"Don't know. Never taken a girl on a date before. Maybe I can start a tradition. Turn around."

She obeyed so he could slip the bandana over her head, but she warned, "If I'm not back in two days, I'm going to put a hole in your side myself, Bellamy Blake."

"If you still want to return after two days with me, I'll put a hole in myself," he replied. "I plan to keep you very busy."

"Arrogant ass," she accused.

He just laughed and spun her back around to lift her over his shoulder. The Devil's Backbone was the worst place in the world after the nuclear fallout, but, with the princess and the rebel king there, things were improving one day at a time. Starting with Bellamy Blake taking the princess back to bed.


End file.
